Sleep by Dali


                       Ripped right off my head
                       Too much money
                       Damn, its all-
                       damn....
                       Will I ever be this relaxed?


                       Somewhere, seventy years earlier,
                       it is tomorrow
                       The purists are not at all,
                       of course.


                       So tired
                       no wheels
                       no cheese
                       no bacon fried
                       Know Bacon, Francis                        

                       You cannot banish me to life
                       I will die despite you


                       Never mind about my mother
                       A little death
                       can you touch it?
                       Are you obsessed with it?
                       It doesn't mean anything,
                       Its direct experience.